Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar (13 page)

I carried my stack of books (minus one) to the
front of the room and cleared my throat. “I know we’re only supposed to give a report on one book,” I said with a smile, “but I couldn’t decide which was my favorite, so I narrowed it down to my top six….”

“You have only five books,” Mr. Mahoney pointed out.

“One of them was stolen,” I explained. “
The Book Thief
.”

Mr. Mahoney frowned. “Is that a joke? Are you trying to be funny, Ms. Khatchadorian?”

“Um, no. Unfortunately.” This wasn’t going well. I decided to switch gears. “I’d like to start my report by reciting a poem that’s in
The Outsiders
. It’s by Robert Frost.” I knelt down and stuck out my arms to look like flower petals. “ ‘Nature’s first green is gold,’ ” I quoted. “ ‘Her hardest hue to’—”

Mr. Mahoney interrupted me. “Did you dye your hair green for this presentation? To go with that poem?”

“Um, yes?” I heard a few snickers, but I didn’t mind. I’d rather have people think I dyed my hair to get an A in English than have people think I was the victim of a prank. Or think I did it to be cool. Because it definitely
wasn’t
cool.

“I’ve heard enough,” Mr. Mahoney said. “Sit down.”

“What?” I blinked in surprise.
Does he mean my report is so amazing I don’t even need to finish?

“You Khatchadorians think you can turn everything into a big joke,” Mr. Mahoney growled. He scribbled in his notebook. “Your grade is a D.”

For a moment I couldn’t move. D. He gave me a D. I’d
never
gotten below a B+ in my
entire life
!

“Please sit down, Ms. Khatchadorian,” he repeated.

“But you haven’t even heard my report,” I said.

“Sit. Down.”

I didn’t have much choice. So I took my books and sat down.

I’d tried to erase Rafe’s name from everyone’s memory, but I’d only managed to carve it deeper in stone. Somehow, I was able to keep from crying. That was the only thing that went right that morning.

A
fter school Mrs. Stricker sent me to the cafeteria for detention, where Mr. Adell, the janitor, was waiting with a bucket full of bacteria and a sponge.

“You’re supposed to wipe down the tables,” he said, handing me the sponge.

“What’s in there?” I asked, looking at the bucket.

“Water and disinfectant,” Mr. Adell said.

That wasn’t what it smelled like, but I had to take his word for it. I started in on the tables. They were even grosser than the desks had been. Did you know that ketchup can get stuck to a table like glue? Did you realize that a spilled smoothie turns into an oozy jelly? Or that chocolate milk will
become a solid if left out all day? Neither did I!

How very educational.

What could be worse than spending time with bacteria?

Having Missy Trillin watch me spend time with bacteria. She and her sidekicks sat huddled in one corner of the lunchroom, planning the school dance. They were listening to an eighth grader lay out the plans for decorations and refreshments. When I heard Missy say the older girl’s name, I stopped in my tracks.

When Rafe was at HVMS, he had an imaginary friend. Of course, I am talking about none other than Jeanne Galletta. Oh, she’s real, all right—
and she was sitting with Missy at that very moment
. But I don’t think she and Rafe were really friends. I know for sure that Rafe would’ve liked to be
better
friends with Jeanne. He was always saying that Jeanne was so sweet and kind and smart and hardworking and well dressed (like he would know). I figured I’d spot Jeanne on my very first day at HVMS, floating down from the ceiling with white robes fluttering around her, strumming a harp and showing off her glowing halo.

But it turns out that Jeanne must just be a regular eighth grader, because I never would’ve picked her out of a lineup.

Jeanne just sat there, talking to the Princesses like they were normal people.
Maybe they’re her friends
, I thought as I cleaned a table in the far corner. Missy said something, and the others—even Jeanne—laughed.
Are they giggling about me?
I wondered.
Even perfect Jeanne Galletta is picking on me now
.

I went to find Mr. Adell. “I’m finished,” I told him, holding out the bucket.

“Did you clean that one?” he asked, pointing to the table where the Princesses sat. I could feel their glares from across the room.

My stomach did a flip, then tied itself into a knot. “No.”

He shrugged. “Then you’re not done.”

I gulped.
This detention is cruel and unusual punishment
, I thought as I dragged myself over to the Princesses.

“What do you want?” Missy demanded.

“I’m supposed to wipe down your table,” I said, holding up my bucket.

“Ew,” Missy said. “What’s that—your shampoo?” Brittany and Bethany howled as if that was the best joke in the history of humankind. Even Jeanne laughed.

She laughed!
Where’s your angel now, Rafe?
I thought. I should have known he had rotten taste in girls.

“I
like
your green hair,” Jeanne said.

Missy smiled smugly. “Yeah, it’s very eco-friendly.”

“The alien look is totally in,” Brittany agreed.

“Beam me up, Georgia,” Bethany added. Missy gave her a high five.

Great. Now there were
four
princesses instead of three. Even more witty remarks to ruin my life! “Can I just clean this table?” I snapped.

“We’ll move,” Jeanne said, gathering her things. “Let’s sit over there,” she said, pointing to a table by the window. “The only thing left to plan is the Battle of the Bands.”

The itty-bitty dance committee looked at one another, then gathered their things to follow. I guess even Missy wasn’t going to mess with Jeanne.

Is there a new queen at HVMS?
I wondered.

I turned my back on them as I wiped down my last table.
Why did Rafe ever like Jeanne, anyway? She’s just like the rest of them—underneath that bouncy hair, she has a mean streak a mile wide.

I
couldn’t let the green-hair thing go. I needed revenge.

I know what you’re thinking: “Sheesh, Georgia’s been a little harsh on Rafe, hasn’t she?” Yeah. I have. But you need to understand something:
He ruined my life.
I had always loved school. I’d always been good at it. And now it was
horrible
, and it was all Rafe’s fault.

He was my brother, and I was stuck with him… but he was stuck with me too. And I would make him pay. I rubbed my hands together like an evil mad scientist. (Hey, I already had the hair to match.)

When I came into the kitchen, Rafe was there,
chugging milk straight from the plastic jug. Seriously.
Again
with the chugging!

I bit back a comment about backwash and picked an apple out of the fruit bowl. “Hey, you got a phone call earlier,” I said, like the thought had just occurred to me.

Rafe looked stumped, as if I had just told him a riddle. “Who?”

“Oh… wait… I can’t remember her name.” I took a bite of the apple, pretending to rack my brain.

Rafe’s eyes bugged out when I said “her.” “Someone from Airbrook?”

“No… it was someone from HVMS,” I said. “Someone who used to know you.”

“Jeanne Galletta?”

I snapped my fingers. “That’s it. Sorry I didn’t write it down. She said you had the number?”

Rafe looked thrilled, as if I’d just told him Santa Claus was real and he was coming over for dinner.

Rafe grabbed the phone from the wall and started to punch in the numbers.
He has her number memorized?
I don’t think he even realized how huge his smile was. Rafe was happier than I’d seen him in weeks.